


Hurl Clichés At Me

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, F/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mulder Loves Cunnilingus, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You do have some pretty bad pickup lines, Scully."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurl Clichés At Me

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: indeterminate Season 7  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

He's lying in bed chewing on sunflower seeds and idly watching whatever the hell is on tv when he hears Scully give a sort of muffled scream, choked off in the middle. He's out of bed with his weapon in his hand before he's really sure what's happening. He pounds on her door, heedless of the fact that his belt is unbuckled and his zipper is down.

"Scully? Scully!"

It takes her too long to open the door. He's tensed to try to kick it open, though the lock doesn't show any signs of being forced. When she does answer the door, she's flushed and breathless, and her eyes are wide. 

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says, breathing hard. 

"Is there someone in here?" he asks, squeezing past her. 

"There's nobody here," she says, and only then does he turn to look at her and realize she's wearing a towel and her hair is wet. There are drops of water on her shoulders and rolling down her cleavage, and when he examines her a little more closely, that brightness in her eyes doesn't look like fear. Suddenly he remembers that his pants are unzipped, and if she hasn't noticed, well, she will soon.

"Oh," he says. "I heard you...I thought you were in trouble."

"I wasn't in trouble," she says, and her gaze would be surprisingly steady except that she's a medical doctor, and surprisingly unprudish about some things. "I'm fine, Mulder. I'm great."

"Oh," he says again. Eloquence really is his middle name. "I should go."

"You might as well stay," she says, and pads across the carpet in her bare feet. 

"Hey, Scully, I didn't mean to interrupt," he tells her, and absurdly, he's blushing. His eyes trace the firm curves of her calves up to her thighs and further to the hem of the towel, which honestly doesn't cover much. 

"It was bound to happen sometime," she says. "Given the number of times I've walked in on you watching porn in the office."

"Yeah, but I don't…" his voice trailed off. "Not in the office."

"Sure you don't," she says, smirking at him. He's impressed with her composure. The towel doesn't cover that much of her, but she crosses her arms and leans hipshot against the credenza and gazes at him, as secure as if she's wearing a suit.

"I don't," he insists. 

"Of all the things you've ever asked me to believe, Mulder, that's the least plausible," she says. 

"I should go," he says, gesturing toward the door. 

"Mulder," she says, and her voice is suddenly warm and soft and he wants to sink deep, deep into it. "You don't have to go."

"Uh," he says, his brain stalling out. 

"Would it be too cliché to ask you to scrub my back?" she asks, a smile playing around her lips. "Or has all this flirting been some kind of long con all these years?"

"I think I could help you out," he says carefully. This is a dream. This is all a dream. He's going to wake up flustered and sticky any moment now. 

"Go make sure your room is locked," she says. "And maybe put your weapon away." 

He glances down automatically at his pants, and she laughs at him. It's more like a snort, honestly, but it's still pretty damn hot. 

"The one the Bureau issued you," she clarifies. 

"Yeah," he says. "I'll...I'll be right back."

He sets his weapon on the table - maybe not the most secure location, but his brain isn't firing on all cylinders right now - and grabs the key for his room. Thank god they're in some podunk town where the motel rooms still have actual keys and the doors aren't all heavy enough to swing shut automatically. He stumbles back to Scully's room and for a half-second, he's terrified that the door will be locked, and that she'll be on the other side laughing. But it swings open at his touch, and he locks it carefully behind him. Scully's nowhere to be seen, but the shower is running again. He approaches the bathroom with some trepidation, preceded by his outrageous erection, and knocks on the door.

Scully opens it and grabs the loose ends of his belt and hauls him in one careful step at a time. It's not a large bathroom, but they're still standing closer together than is absolutely necessary in the cramped space. She's practically tucked under his chin. His knees brush her thighs, and he's sure she's very aware that he's extremely interested in the whole situation.

"Mulder, you're still wearing your shoes," she says, in that voice that's velvet and honey. 

"I didn't want to presume," he says, stumbling a little. "As far as I know, tonight only includes back scrubbing."

She laughs and slips his belt out of its loops. The belt hits the floor with a thwack and a jingle. She grabs the hem of his shirt and skins it up his body, her palms grazing his stomach. "What if it included more?"

"I'm ready and willing to provide a variety of services," he says, helping her pull his shirt over his head. "Back scrubbing. Hair washing. Foot rubbing, if necessary."

"We'll save that one for another time," she says, looking up at him with eyes that are very blue. The steam has made her skin dewy. A few strands of her hair curl around her face and her eyelashes are stuck together. 

"Scully," he says.

"Maybe I wanted you to hear me," she tells him. "Maybe I think we've been running away from this for a long time. How close have we come, a hundred times, to just taking one more step? I want you, Mulder, and I'm so damn tired of pretending I don't. I'm just hoping you are too."

"Exhausted," he says, his mouth dry. 

She smiles and tugs at the end of her towel, letting it drop to the floor. He drinks her in with his eyes, every inch of her. She blushes, just a little, but gazes back at him. Her nimble fingers unbutton his trousers. He reaches out and cups her jaw with one hand, pulling her toward him, and she melts into him. Her mouth meets his with a shock so profound he worries for half a second that they're standing on a damp towel, but the electricity is all in the kiss. Her bare skin touches his and his body is crackling. She moans gently into his mouth and shoves his trousers off his hips. He tries to shuffle them all the way off without breaking the kiss, but starts to trip, and she laughs against his lips. 

"I told you the shoes would be a problem," she says, and takes a half-step back. He struggles out of his shoes and finally kicks the damn trousers off. Scully steps into the shower and watches him as he shucks off his socks and boxers. And then he's naked, in front of his partner, and she's naked, and he's still waiting to wake up, but she raises one eyebrow at him and he steps in under the spray and yanks the shower curtain closed. She feels real, when he pulls her against him. She's hot and slippery from the shower, but she feels like Scully, small but solid. He turns so that his body shields her from the water, and she brushes his damp bangs out of his eyes and pulls him down for a kiss. The shower pelts down around them and he still hasn't woken up, but maybe he doesn't want to, because every important part of him is touching every important part of her and his fingers are twined in her hair and her tongue is in his mouth and her arms are around his neck and it's some kind of magic, some miracle of chemistry. 

"Yes," she sighs happily. It could be hours later. The hot water here isn't likely to run out, and he has no other way to tell time. There's only Scully's mouth, and Scully's hips, and Scully's breasts surprisingly weighty in his hands. There's Scully's ass and the smooth curve of her back and the solidity of her thighs against his. And Scully's hands, oh god, Scully's hands, running over his back, his shoulders, finding the length of his cock.

"What were you doing in here that you wanted me to hear?" he murmurs to distract himself from the way her fingers feel around his shaft. It's easier to talk to her this way in the enclosed space of the shower. The light is dim; the shadows accentuate her curves. Her waist is so small without the armor of her suit.

"The showerhead is detachable," she says. "The heat and the stimulation from the spray produce an excellent effect on certain sensitive areas." She smiles to let him know she's not retreating into science, just playing with their usual formalities. He reaches up behind himself and finagles the showerhead out of its holster. 

"Which areas specifically?" he asks, directing the spray at her shoulder. "Here?"

"Lower," she says, looking up at him through heavy lashes.

He tilts the showerhead. The water flicks at her nipples. "Here?" 

"Better," she says, biting her lip lightly, "but lower." 

He sprays her belly, easing past the scar from her gunshot wound. Her hip seems ticklish - she flinches a little - so he moves down to the crease of her thigh. "Here?"

"Almost," she breathes. 

He reaches down, sliding his fingers through her damp curls and between her folds. Fuck, he thinks dizzily. She's wet, not from the water, but with the heavy slickness of her own moisture. He can't resist easing his fingers along the length of her folds, grazing the firm nub of her clit first and dipping his fingertips into her. She moans and clutches at his shoulder. He gently parts her folds and aims the showerhead at her clit. She gasps. The angle isn't quite right though; he can tell by the look in her eyes. He nudges at her hip and turns her around, pulling her body back against his. Her ass fits just right against his thighs. He wraps one arm around her, under her breasts. 

"Help me, Scully," he whispers, lips against her ear. "Show me."

Her hand cups over his, almost tentatively. He caresses her breasts with the other hand before easing it down to hold her folds back. She guides him, moving the showerhead millimeter by millimeter until he can feel the thrill run through her. Her fingers tighten over his. She tips her head back against his shoulder, her mouth red and hungry, and he leans down to kiss her. Her tongue slides against his, demanding his attention, and he gives it to her, all of it. Nothing has ever been as important as Scully. 

Together they hold the showerhead in place so that the spray can tease her. He can feel the change in her when it moves. Her body tenses or relaxes against his. After a moment, he can feel his fingers nudged aside. She braces her folds apart with a practiced little gesture and he almost loses it. His unemployed hand rises again to her breasts. He rolls her nipples gently between his fingers, and then, as she whimpers, a little harder. She presses back against him, asking for more, and he's not sure how much longer he can stand it, the way her body is tightening and tightening, every muscle tensed. She's moaning, just like he heard before, just like she wanted him to hear. And then she's coming, her body bucking against his, and he holds her tight and lets her ride it out. The shower echoes with the sounds of her pleasure. He lets the showerhead drop and slides two fingers inside her to feel the hot clutch of her muscles, her hand still guiding his, eager to push him deeper. 

"Jesus," he swears. She sags gently against him, humming a happy little assent. He turns her around again, helping her lean against the back of the shower. The showerhead sprays futilely against the front of the tub as he kisses a path down her body, kneeling in front of her. 

"I want to taste you," he says hoarsely. 

"Please," she says, twining her fingers through his hair. He rubs his cheek against her thighs, savoring the light scratch of his stubble over her skin. She shivers, watching him through half-lidded eyes, as he noses closer and closer. His tongue slides out, tracing the line of her folds, and then slips between. God, she tastes good, sweet and tangy and salty. He wants to fill his mouth with her. He wants to end every day with his face between her thighs. He laps at her clit until she gasps and then works his way lower, savoring the slick smooth heat of her. He teases her entrance and then thrusts in, fucking her with his tongue, her clit throbbing against his nose. She groans, her fingers tightening in his hair. 

"Mulder," she sighs, and fuck, he's so close, and she's barely even touched him yet. He eases back up to suck at her clit, drawing it into his mouth and licking in a steady rhythm, and she comes with a surprised little cry. Her head lolls back against the wall as she tugs at his hair. He kisses his way back up her body, ending with her mouth. She wraps her arms around him and kisses him boneless. 

Without the spray, it's a little chilly in the shower. He reluctantly untangles himself from her to set the showerhead back where it belongs. The water patters warm against his back. Scully slips an arm around his waist and pulls him against her. Her other hand scratches delicately across his chest, down his ribs, and over his hip to find his cock. 

"There's a bed," he reminds her, nuzzling at her neck, nipping a little as she rubs her thumb over the head of his cock. She gasps and hums happily. 

"We can make it work," she says, and lifts one foot to rest on the edge of the tub. She backs up until she's braced against the wall, and somehow they're lined up just right. She guides him into her, and god, she's everything, and they've been waiting so long for this. He has to bury his face in her neck to keep from thrusting until they both slip and fall, because that will be impossible to explain away in their report. She kisses his cheekbone, his eyebrow, the side of his forehead, and if he could freeze time, he would live in this moment.

He thrusts into her, slow and steady, and she arches her back and tilts her hips to take him in deeper and deeper. Her breasts are laid out like a banquet, just out of reach; later, he promises himself, he's going to savor them. But slow and steady's working just fine, and he can still reach her lips. She kisses him with a lazy fervor. She's tight around him, and he pushes into the heat of her like it's some form of worship, and maybe it is. The harmony of the sounds they're making is better than any hymn he's ever heard. 

He could laugh to think that this is happening here of all places, a dim motel bathroom, but a part of him thinks of course it's happening here, exactly where it was always going to happen. What was he going to do, rent a suite? Take her to Vegas? 

She nips at him and he comes back to her, his red-headed universe, all he's ever wanted and more. 

"You going to come for me, Mulder?" she murmurs, and he shivers and thrusts faster. "Two for one seems fair."

"Three for one, depending on when I interrupted you," he gasps. 

"Might even make it four," she says, clenching her inner muscles around his cock. 

"Fuck," he swears. Between the delicious pressure of her cunt and the cool tub under his feet and the warm spray on his back, he's almost undone. She takes his hand and guides it to her clit, and her fingers teach his how to touch her, how to rub slow circles until she's shuddering, right on the edge, but it's too much and he comes hard, bucking into her, and she locks her arms around him as his world dissolves. His hand is pressed between their bodies, so he keeps moving his fingers, just like she showed him, and she gasps into his chest and comes. He can feel the hard spasms of her muscles contracting around his cock. Her moans start to take on an edge of pain and he presses gently with his thumb until her breathing gets less ragged, and then eases his hand away. He slides out of her and steps back a little, holding her up until she finds her feet.

"Jesus, Mulder," she says in a satisfied tone, gazing at him with dreamy eyes. 

"I never scrubbed your back," he says, and she laughs. 

"There's still time," she tells him. 

They lather each other up with the cheap sliver of motel soap, hands exploring each other's bodies with lazy satisfaction. The water is starting to get chilly by the time they rinse off. He dips his head to sample the droplets on her breasts, pulling each nipple into his mouth in turn as she clings to him. They step out of the confines of the foggy bathroom to towel each other dry lingeringly, rubbing each other warm, and then collapse onto the bed. 

"Need I remind you of the Bureau's policy against agents consorting blah blah blah," he says into the pillow. 

"Shut up, Mulder," she says comfortably, rolling him onto his side so that she can pull the comforter out from under him. "If you'd just eaten my cheese and drunk my wine, we could have been doing this much sooner."

"You do have some pretty bad pickup lines, Scully," he teases her, turning his head to watch her pull on his t-shirt, which looks as fantastic on her as he's always hoped. 

"They work on you," she tells him, getting under the covers. "Eventually."

"Eventually," he says, pulling her against him. She turns her head to kiss him and yeah, he could live like this. He's amazed he's lived so long without this. 

"Thank god," she says. "The next step was showing up at your apartment in a trench coat with nothing under it."

"I should have held out," he says, and yawns. She wriggles back against him.

"Well, you've got a birthday coming up," she says. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

"Already am," he says, and nuzzles at the nape of her neck, and falls asleep with his face in her hair.


End file.
